


Pull Back the Curtain

by WhereDestiniesMeet17 (orphan_account)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Blow Jobs, Come Eating, Day 4, F/M, Facials, Gen, Humor, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Possessive Behavior, Romance, Steter Week, Young Peter Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-20 04:04:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2414297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/WhereDestiniesMeet17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No, what matters is that it only takes Peter two hours before he has Stiles pinned against a wall and begging for Peter to hurry up. </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Stiles and Peter meets on Coronation Day. Things could have gone better. </p>
<p>For Steter Week</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pull Back the Curtain

**Author's Note:**

> I finally wrote a pwp, yes. Hope you enjoy. Feedback is appreciated, as I am still iffy on my porn quality.

Stiles meets Peter on Coronation Day. It's not Stiles' coronation, nor Peter's, but a Princess named Allison, from a far off kingdom. It doesn't matter that she is becoming Queen of the Argent Kingdom, or that Stiles' brother is head over heels for her. It doesn't matter it is the first time Scott has seen her since he asked for her hand. It doesn't matter that Isaac has asked for Scott's and they now have a twisted love triangle. (Which Stiles has solved by insisting on a threesome, but no one is listening to him.)

No, what matters is that it only takes Peter two hours before he has Stiles pinned against a wall and begging for Peter to hurry up.

Stiles is babbling softly, hands pressed against his face, which is flaming. Peter is on his knees, sucking Stiles down like he can't get enough. His hands are on Stiles' hips, tight to keep him flush against the wall, his grip making bruises blossom. Stiles chokes back a moan, shifting restlessly, wanting more.

Peter's mouth is warm around him and so very wet. Stiles can feel the breath that Peter exhales through his nose. He has a moment of lucidity every time Peter pulls back, which is then lost when Peter takes him deeper. He feels warmth thrumming under his skin, pushing outwards, making it too tight. His mind is spiraling further away from him with every suck.

He isn't sure what he is saying, but he's pretty sure he'll be embarrassed about it later. He thinks he hears a reedy whine pass his lips and the words, "please, come on, Peter."

Peter looks up at him, though his lashes. Stiles peeks down at him from between his fingers. Peter's eyes are so fucking blue and Stiles feels like he's drowning. He looses his breath as Peter's eyes shift from blue to gold, becoming luminous. Then he whimpers as Peters takes him all the way down, Peter's throat tighten around him as he swallows.

Stiles comes biting his hand to keep the sound he makes back. Peter pulls away, licking him a few times before he tucks him away and stands, rubbing against Stiles the whole way up. Peter grabs his hands, prying them away from his crimson face, grinning at the red cheeks and dilated eyes he finds.

His lips, when he kisses Stiles, are wet with cooling spit. Stiles lets him lick into his mouth, bringing a salty and bitter taste into the kiss. It reminds Stiles of green pecans.

Peter breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against Stiles'. "Well, my Prince?" He asks.

Stiles blinks a few times, his body still singing with endorphins. Peter gives Stiles a patient look, grinding against him to remind him that Peter hasn't come. Stiles thinks 'oh!' and slides bonelessly down the wall. His knees hit the floor with a thump.

Peter's hands land on his head, cradling his skull. He runs his fingers through the hair, which is slightly stiff with gel. He tugs, which makes Stiles pause in his scramble to get the zipper down. He looks up at Peter, a confusion on his face.

"You look good on your knees, Prince."

Stiles ducks his head. "Stop it," he mumbles, embarrassed and aroused.

"Stop what, your highness?" Peter asks, planting one hand on the wall so that he can hover over Stiles. He smiles down at Stiles' annoyed expression.

"Stop calling me by title," Stiles snaps, yanking Peter's pants open.

"What would you prefer, sweetheart?" Peter asks, stroking Stiles' face with his free hand.

"You're insufferable," Stiles informs him.

Stiles reaches into his pants, pulling out Peter's cock. It is flushed red and hard, already leaking precome. Stiles swipes his thumb over the slit, making Peter hiss in pleasure. He strokes with his left hand, reaching back to roll Peter's balls with his right.

"Stiles," Peter purrs.

A shiver snakes down Stiles spine. He likes the sound of his name when Peter says it. It's what Peter's asking for that makes Stiles hesitate. He drops his eyes, watching as more precome wells at the tip.

"I don't have much experience with this sort of thing," Stiles admits.

Peter makes a strange sound in the back of his throat, a mix between a growl and a hum. He traces Stiles' lips with his fingers.

"Are you saying I'm your first, Stiles?" Peter questions and wow, Peter definitely doesn't mind by the sound of his voice.

The hand on Stiles face turns possessive, gentle but owning. Stiles leans into it, liking it more than he wants to say. He nods slowly, some of his worry trickling away.

"We'll take it slow," Peter assures him. "And if you want to, we'll stop."

"Hell no," Stiles shakes his head. "We're doing this. Just... Give me pointers or some shit," Stiles face heats up in mortification. Why did he say that?

"Okay," Peter says.

His fingers are warm on Stiles' chin. He eases Stiles mouth open, letting his fingers slip inside. Stiles licks them, sucking on them when Peter starts to pull them away. Peter shudders, then takes them more firmly.

"Just do that. Don't have to try to deep throat, because that would be a fucking mess."

"You are underestimating my skill at fucking shit up," Stiles warns him.

"Stiles, you're sucking my dick, not declaring war. I think everything will okay."

Stiles decides to retort by putting Peter's cock in his mouth. The taste is different, more like dumping a table spoon of salt on his tongue, but less bitter. Stiles lets his tongue flick over the head, both of his hands going to the shaft. Peter's breath starts to speed up.

"That's good," Peter whispers, thumb pressing in next to his cock.

Stiles hollows his cheeks and starts to suck, Peter's thumb slipping away. The noise is loud to his ears, lewd in a way Peter's hadn't been. He runs his tongue over the vein and under the head, delving into the slit. He explores every inch of the silky skin, feeling it throb in time to Peter's heart beat. He starts to bob his head, taking Peter in only a few inches before having to pull back, letting it drag across his tongue on the way out.

Peter reassures him with soft caresses and heady whispers. Soon, his words start to slip together, becoming slurred and pleased. Stiles can only understand his name, but he knows all the rest is praise and encouragement. Peter's hand settles onto his neck, kneading the tension there, rubbing away the ache from the angle. It is the hand that gives Stiles the warning, the fingers twitching. Peter gives a soft groan, then pulls away abruptly.

Stiles closes his eyes a second before he feels the first splash of come hit him. It is quickly followed by another, then Stiles loses himself to the sound of his name dropping from Peter's mouth as he empties himself on his face. He curls over Stiles, shielding him with his body as he rides out his climax. A minute passes as Peter pants and slowly straightens up, the post orgasm bliss clinging to him.

"Little help here?" Stiles demands, tapping him.

"Sorry," Peter says, but doesn't actually sound like he means it.

He reaches down , guiding Stiles to his feet. Stiles knees ache and he still hasn't dared to open his eyes. He hears Peter tuck himself away. He waits, expecting Peter to pull out a handkerchief. He jumps when he feels Peter's tongue dragging across his face, gathering the come on his tongue.

Stiles grabs Peter's wrists, Peter's hands in Stiles' hair, holding his head still. Peter licks at his chin, cheek, nose. He swipes it over Stiles' eyelids, which make Stiles jerked back on instinct. Peter quickly moves on. Stiles realizes after a few minutes have passed and the air is making the drying saliva turn cold, that Peter is just licking him now.

Stiles opens his eyes, giving him a narrow glare. "Are you done?"

Peter smacks his lips and smiles. "For now."

"For now?"

Peter presses in, giving him a slow kiss that turns deep, but remains unhurried. When they finally pull apart, Stiles lets the wall take most of his weight.

"See you after the ceremony?" Peter asks.

"Most definitely." Stiles agrees.

They help each other tidy up and manage to make themselves presentable right before the trumpets start to play. They slip out into the crowd of royals just in time to watch Allison walk into sight. They watch her accept the crown from two different sides of the room. In her speech that follows, Stiles finds Peter's eyes. They are both staring when Allison declares her intention to wed not one, but two Princes.

Stiles is, of course, the person who blurts out, "everyone is getting lucky today."

Peter is the only person who laughs.


End file.
